


Friend to Death

by Tales_Unique



Series: Tales of Death [1]
Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Darksiders - Freeform, Darksiders Imagine, Darksiders Imagines, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 11:25:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16853137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tales_Unique/pseuds/Tales_Unique





	Friend to Death

> **_Who is friend to Death?_ **

It only strikes him now, as he rides along the desolate wasteland upon the back of Despair, the question that one of the Old Ones had uttered, albeit rhetorically. In truth this was the first time since its occurrence that it had come to mind and it perplexed him. Perhaps it was because of his mission to restore humanity from the brink of extinction? Or perhaps it was the incessant need to clear his brother’s name and prove his innocence? Nay, it was neither in that moment, he now reflects, as his attention is turned to the twitching of the body at his back.

The Mortal is weak, writhing, like a new-born, but by their standards she is in her prime.  **Pitiful** , he’d say. Yet he’s quiet as she rouses from the third sleep on this journey alone, stretching and sighing before taking in her surroundings.

“Where are we?” The question is soft, quiet, and laced with the remnants of sleep.

“A long way from home,” he answers evenly, chuckling at his own little joke.

He can almost  **hear**  the snarl that curls her lip and the roll of her eyes as she wearily shifts behind him to rouse her numb limbs from their own slumber. He’s acutely aware of the dull rhythm of her heart and her steady breathing even without watching her, something that had become almost second nature to the Horseman now. When met by only an angry silence he relents and gives her their true location and their subsequent destination, in order to sate her. She was a thing most foul when provoked, especially if just awoken from slumber;  _as most humans would be_ , she often told him.

With a light hum on her part he knows that she’s accepted his offering, for now, and he looks ahead to the horizon. It would be a lie to say that it didn’t annoy him, her mortality. The need to eat, to rest, were all things that furthered him from his goals, yet he continually allowed her to remain at his side, and for what? The answer to such a question was what he had come to ponder during the long and arduous ride, and in many times before since acquiring his companion.

“ _Death_.”

The firm call of his name pulls him from his thoughts and her small hand upon his forearm gains his attention, his head inclined to see her from the peripheral of his vision.

“It  _hurts_ , we need to stop.”

Ah, it dawns on him anew the injury she took in wake of the last attack. A stray group of demonic ilk, the few scattered remains of a chaotic age. It was easy to disrupt their attack, despite the dark of night that they used to cloak themselves, yet he anticipated not the second life they would seek out and attack. He caught her just in time to save her life, but not before she suffered a tainted laceration to the leg. For many a night she suffered with its toxins and even Death grew to feel heavy from her suffering, giving her potions and tinctures to ease the pain and stop the spreading of the poison through her veins. It was only through time and the use of powerful, ancient magic did the spreading of the poison stop and her wounds cease to fester. Both were relieved, none more so than she herself, but it was still a treacherous path that she now walks to recovery.

Death pushed Despair to ride faster, harder, in a bid to find a place that would be safe enough for her to take shelter, and once found he came to a screeching halt in a flurry of pale dust and ash. Only once Despair was still did the Mortal struggle to remove herself from the nags back, and Death knew better than to offer his aid yet. It amuses him to see such fire in her eyes, brought forth from stubbornness and pride to do this one simple task alone. Yet, as it always did now, she falls to the ground with a pained cry as a result of daring to take a few stumbling steps on her injured leg, clutching her it above the knee while it throbbed with the effort. It was now that he too removed himself from his horse, allowing Despair to dissipate so that he stands before her, unwavering. Pathetic, frail little creature who owes her life to him, and who he stands vigilant over despite himself. He tilts his head as he looks over her, the coarsely woven cowl he gave her having fallen back from her head to let forth her unruly locks, which now obscured her face from view. Though, he need not have seen her face to know of the pain she feels for he could see the way her chest heaves and her limbs shake.

“On your feet, Mortal,” he growls, offering a clawed hand for her to take; the world will not allow such weakness, and neither will he.

“Aright,” she replies, weary already from her fall, “ _alright_.”

The feebleness that settled in the place of her suffering was apparent as Death lifts her to her feet, her delicate hands gripping his own with all her might. If he so wishes he could easily toss her about like the wind does to ash, yet he attempts to be as gentle as a Nephilim could be while handling her. Rising shakily to her feet she thanks him and even goes as far to offer him a small smile, which he answers with his help in moving her to the broken remnants of a stone construct, taking  a moment to look about himself before settling cross-legged opposite her in the shadow of the stone. Here she will be guarded from danger, for a small amount of time at least, and in this small spot of respite he can continue his pondering in silence.

While he thinks to himself he watches her offhandedly, eyes half lidded, since she’s one to try and wander if not kept a close enough eye on, and in her state? Well, the Horseman wagers he’d rather not find out the consequence to her actions. But for once he’s pleasantly surprised to find her staying where he sat her, her fingers drifting about in the dusty earth at her feet, drawing shapes in her boredom. It’s the stillest he’s ever seen her, but he knows that it comes not because she’s relaxed but because she’s in pain. The healing process is a long road to travel and for her it seems worse, given the circumstances. A low hum escapes him at the thought and her gaze flicks to him, wide and doe-like.  
No doubt she thinks she’s displeased him in some way, and he gives a small sigh before tossing the satchel to her side, narrowing his eyes when she shoots him a confused look.

“You need to tend to your wounds,” he explains, motioning to the satchel, “everything you need is in there.” Death wouldn’t coddle her, not when she can be taught the skills she needs; he simply sits and watches, only aiding her when absolutely necessary. He notices how her hands shake slightly while working on the bandages, though it was a vast improvement from when he had first taught her how to do it, and he finds little to criticize about. “Well done,” he praises her, and she gifts him a rare, small smile through the ache of her sensitive wounds, “perhaps you will survive here after all.” In an instant the smile is replaces with a curling of her lip and he can’t help but chuckle once more at how easily she’s offended;  **amusing**  little Mortal.

She settles back against the crumbling wall then, her eyes looking at him before a she releases a sigh. “You’re always helping me,” she begins and Death cocks his head, “but I never seem to be able to help  _you_.” It concerns him, the sudden starkness of her statement and the sadness rife within her expression. He knows he must respond from the intense way her eyes look at him, practically  **digging**  into him.

“I don’t need your help, Mortal,” he responds, knowing he’s being harsher than intended.

“I know,” she murmurs and her expression grows more dejected, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t  _want_  to.”

Death grows silent, the question of the Old One reverberating in his mind. Perhaps this is what it meant to be a friend; someone who doesn’t need to offer help, but who is  **willing**  to give it regardless of their own self? He’s still unsure but he knows that she does indeed try. That’s one of the things he has observed about humanity; they  **always**  keep trying.

He observes how his silence affects her. It makes her grow more solemn and she almost curls away from him, suddenly so small and defenseless in the eyes of the Horseman. Death gives a sigh of his own then and feels the need to speak again, no biting words but something more sincere.

“When the times that I find myself in need of help, then I will call upon you, does that satisfy you?” Death doesn’t believe the meek nod that she gives for he too doesn’t believe that he will ever be in a situation when he will call upon her, a Mortal, for help, but at least the small flickering of a smile is once again coming to her lips again, their conversation giving her momentary distraction from her pain.

“I’m your **_friend_**  Death, I’ll do whatever I can,” she states, firmer, after a short about of time, with a smile more brilliant than he seen in their brief time together.


End file.
